


Sanguine

by questceque_cest



Category: Glee
Genre: Aliens, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Horror, Blood, Dystopia, Gen, Needles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-28
Updated: 2012-10-28
Packaged: 2017-11-17 04:53:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/547822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/questceque_cest/pseuds/questceque_cest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>san·guine</b> adjective; cheerfully optimistic. noun; blood-red colour. </p><p>Dystopian Alien AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sanguine

**kurt &quinn**  
Kurt had to pee. The ice cold stainless steel beneath his bare feet made him shiver as he jumped from his bed -- a makeshift operating table with a light blanket thrown over. He wrapped his long, pale arms around his body for warmth, shaking as his eyes transfixed on the crimson painted walls in front. He didn’t want to use the bathroom, he knew he didn’t have enough money, but he was so desperate. Kurt glanced to the only item adorning his walls -- a standard poster provided by the Sangsirans with one of them hugging an Earthling, fake smiles plastered on their faces. A caption at the bottom scrawled _”Sangsiran thanks you, Earth, for your bountiful donation. Peace and harmony are the key to a better world”_. He sighed in resignation and walked to the door, pressing the release button. 

A blast of frigid air hit him as the door slid open. He stepped into the fluorescently lit hallway and was immediately met by an alien nurse. 

“Good morning, Mr. Hummel. What would you like to do today?” Her long, sharp fingernails drummed against the metal walls as she eyed him, her large, black pupils focusing in on his gaunt face as a _click click click_ sound drifted from her fingers to his ears. 

“I need to use the washroom,” he mumbled, wringing his hands together. 

She smiled, baring pointed teeth stained red. “Will you be requiring anything else? Do you need a shaving kit, or a toothbrush and toothpaste?” 

Shit. Kurt knew he could get away without shaving for that kind of extraneous activity would be pricey later on, but he hadn’t brushed his teeth in _days_. He ran his tongue along his molars and cringed. “Yes, I’ll need to brush my teeth.” 

The alien cried out in delight. "Why, Mr. Hummel, how generous of you. Your donation goes along way here. Now, which arm will you be using this morning?" She trailed a fingernail down Kurt's arm, stopping at the crook of his elbow. 

He swallowed thickly, trembling at the contact, and raised his thin, white cotton pajama sleeve up his arm. "Please use the left today, I don’t think much will come from the right. Out of curiosity, how much is this costing me?"

The nurse looked deep in thought, mentally calculating the price of Kurt’s morning routine. She paused before replying, “About six syringes worth.” 

“Oh,” Kurt whispered. He balled his left hand into a fist as she sterilized his arm with rubbing alcohol that she pulled from her nursing bag. She withdrew a syringe, the sharp metal tip glinting in the light. Kurt winced despite himself; have blood drawn was as second nature as blinking by now. But, he couldn’t help but flinch at the first second the needle pierced his skin, the dull sting as millilitres of his blood oozed from his body. 

The alien extracted the needle from Kurt’s arm, wiping her finger of the bead of blood that pooled at his wound. She brought it to her mouth and licked, eliciting a small moan as she sucked her finger between her scarlet lips. 

“Once again, we would like to thank you for your charitable donation. Your interest in our cause is most appreciated. Here,” she said, pulling out a toothbrush kit from her nursing bag, “enjoy!” She ushered the vials of Kurt’s blood into a ziplock bag and placed it in a cooler lined with ice packs. She winked before heading down the hallway to her next station. 

Kurt gripped the railings lining the halls as he made his way to the bathroom. Upon entering, he grasped the counter and stared at his reflection, his hair limp and thinning, his eyes sunken and dark and his skin eerie transparent. He clutched the walls, stabilizing himself, before undergoing his morning routine. Once finished, he exited the bathroom and headed towards the elevator for the cafeteria. 

All humans lived complexes, “The Villages” as the Sangsirans called them. In their commercials and propaganda posters they touted The Villages as being luxurious facilities, equipped with everything that “Earthlings desired” from a wide buffet to round the clock entertainment. 

Kurt knew better. He knew this godforsaken place was a hospital, a pen cooping up the remainder of society like cattle to be slaughtered. As he rode in the elevator he stared down at his arms pebbled with deep purple bruises from the constant needle incisions. His cotton pajamas hung off his emaciated frame that was once fuller and donned the most cutting edge of fashions. Kurt’s desire to look his best was quelled when clothing increased in price, rounding up to fifteen vials per garment. Fashion had a price, and sometimes Kurt would cringe reflecting back how he and his friends used to giggle and claim they’d _die_ for a pair of boots. 

The elevator opened to the ground floor: the cafeteria. He ventured into the hall, light chatter buzzing throughout. Rows upon rows of tables lined the hall with blood drawing stations edging around. The smell of bacon wafted through the room, causing Kurt’s stomach to growl and constrict with hunger. He made his way to a station where an alien met him with a saccharine smile. 

“Hello, young man. What are you in the mood for today?” the alien asked, holding out a menu between its claret fingers. Kurt paused for a second, internally running through the lists of food available with the most iron. 

“I’ll have ground beef,” he replied, rolling up his sleeve. 

The alien punched Kurt’s order into a till. On the electronic screen _5_ blinked in dull red characters. “Your donation is five vials worth.” He pulled a syringe from the register and attached a tube to the end. He threaded the tube through the till and into the catch basin below. The alien sterilized Kurt’s arm and punctured his skin again, plunging the needle deep into his flesh. Kurt felt light headed as he watched his blood drain down the tubes and into the register. When five vials were collected, a bell pinged, signalling the alien to pull out the needle. He tore the printed receipt and handed it to Kurt. “We thank you for your donation.” 

Averting his eyes, Kurt grabbed the receipt and headed towards the cooking booth. He handed the alien his slip and received his plate of ground beef. Kurt weaved through the tables until he spotted a familiar blonde head, feet perched on the table bench with her back resting against the wall and textbook firmly situated between her knees. 

“Hi Quinn,” Kurt said, giving the girl a small smile. She looked up from her book and returned his grin, scooting her feet closer to her body. 

“Hi Kurt, how are you today?” Quinn asked, shutting her book. A half eaten plate of bacon rest on the table in front of her. 

“Tired. Moody. Dizzy. But, what else is new? How about yourself? You look beautiful today, Quinn, your face has a lot of colour.” He sat down next to her, shoveling a fork into the meat. 

Quinn pursed her lips as she placed a lock of her gold hair behind her ear. “I bought rouge this morning,” she stated, looking guilty. “I couldn’t stand how sickly I looked, I needed to appear healthier. Brighter.” She looked down at her brittle and chipping nails, groaning. “It cost me ten vials. I could barely afford anything to eat.” 

Kurt hummed in acknowledgment, swallowing his mouthful of beef. “You’re beautiful rouge or no rouge, Quinn. Don’t waste all your currency on such frivolous items. Why else do you think I stopped buying hair spray each morning?” 

Quinn sneered, a grin playing on her lips. “I thought it was because you stopped trying to attract every man that walked by. You know, Kurt Hummel finally realizing he’s better than everyone around him.” 

“Please,” he rolled his eyes. He looked to the textbook. “Why were you reading that propaganda drivel? What good could possibly come of that?” 

She bowed her head, pulling her lip between her teeth. “I was reading the chapter describing Earth before the takeover. Sometimes, it’s so hard to remember what life was like before...everything,” she faded, looking up at Kurt through wide eyes. 

Kurt pouted, grabbing Quinn’s hand in his. “I know, I know all too well. Sometimes I wish,” he stopped. He let out a breath, regaining his composure. “Sometimes I wished they killed us all when they had the chance,” he choked, grasping Quinn’s hand tighter. 

Quinn laughed bitterly. “But then they wouldn’t get their _precious_ donations without the human race. Gotta keep up human reproduction to produce all that money.” Tears formed at the corner of her bruised eyes as a shiver went through her body. “Why is it so cold in here?” 

“Do you want the truth or _their_ truth?” Kurt asked, facetious. 

Rolling her eyes, Quinn sucked her tooth. “I know, to preserve the blood. It was rhetorical, Kurt.” She picked up a piece of bacon from her plate and chewed it slowly, hand still firmly laced with Kurt’s. Quinn looked at the posters lining the walls, all identical advertisements of the two alien races laughing and hugging one another. “I wonder what Sangsiran means,” she mused, “because it’s kind of a stupid name.” 

Kurt shrugged, placing the last forkful of meat into his mouth “Well _sang_ is blood in french. So, at least these creatures maybe have class and sophistication?” 

Surprising herself, Quinn giggled, drawing Kurt’s body closer to hers. She embraced him, sighing contently as he thread his frail fingers through her hair. 

“What do I do when I run out of money?” she murmured against his forehead. 

Kurt nuzzled his nose into the crook of her neck, holding her tight against his chest. He balled his eyes shut, stopping the flow of tears prickling deep within. “Just pray that you don’t.” 

**rachel &finn&sam**  
The buzzing from the fluorescent lighting in her room awoke Rachel from a light sleep. Her face was buried deep in her pillow, the edges of her dressing gown tumbling over the side of her bed. She pulled her thin woolen blanket around her shoulders, drawing her knees to her chest. 

Incessant pounding came from the other side of her door, the sharp metallic _clang_ from the stainless steel echoing against her walls. 

With a feeble voice, she called out, allowing the visitor to enter her room. The door slid open halfway as one of the alien nurses stuck in her head, frowning at Rachel’s listless form. 

“Miss Berry, it’s nearly noon. Surely you should be leaving your room?” she asked, striding towards Rachel and folding her lengthy, slender arms across her chest. “I don’t think it’s very charitable of you to not make your daily donation, there are starving children in this world, you know.” The nurse pouted as she jutted out her hip. 

Rachel whined. “I’m sorry, nurse. I’ll donate soon, I promise.” She pushed herself onto her elbows before collapsing upon her own weight. 

The alien clicked her tongue. “Don’t think we’re unaware of your eating habits, Rachel. We know haven’t eaten in days. We wouldn’t want you to lose your strength, now would we?” She paused, thoughtfully. “In any case you have two visitors. You better make good use of your time, these boys made a pretty hefty donation in your favour.” She waved her arm, ushering Finn and Sam to Rachel’s room. The nurse exited, pressing the door shut behind. 

“Rachel, are you okay?” Sam asked, his brow furrowed in concern. Rachel looked at his arms, wincing at the sizable bandage wrapped around his inner elbows. Finn looked down at the floor, his eyes glazing and unfocused. 

“I’m fine,” she replied, voice weak. “I’ve been saving my money for the last couple days. The lounge installed a new karaoke machine and I want sing a song. It costs twenty five vials.” Rachel looked at him through cloudy eyes. “I _need_ the chance to sing in front of an audience, Sam. Picturing me on the stage in front of a crowd in the lounge is the only thing that brightens my day.” 

Sam groaned, holding his head in his hands. “Rachel, please, don’t do this. Like, I know you want to have fun here and stuff but you _have_ to eat. It’ll help you get more iron so you’ll be able to pay to sing.” He walked to her bed, motioning Finn to follow suit. Each boy gripped one of Rachel’s arms and pulled her to her feet. She wobbled, unable to catch her balance, but the boys held her tight. “Please come eat?” he pleaded. Rachel bobbed her head in agreement. They led her out the door and towards the elevators to the cafeteria. 

“Can you smell the food already?” Sam beamed, nudging Rachel’s shoulder with his own. She smiled coyly, before a look of gratitude washed over her face. 

“Mhm, I didn’t realize how utterly famished I am. Thank you,” she smiled sweetly at Sam before turning to Finn. “What are you going to order?” Her gaze trailed up to Finn’s pale face, his eyes were opening and closing slowly, his head nodding forward. 

“Uh, I dunno, I’ve wanted to eat some weird shit lately. Yesterday I ordered ice chips, like what the hell is that about?” He moaned, clunking his head back against the elevator wall. “I’m so, so tired, you guys.” Rachel rubbed his arm soothingly, pressing her cheek against his bicep. 

Sam leaned over Rachel, eyeing her. “Why do you want to buy a song anyway? I mean, like, it’d be a cool thing to do but I dunno if it’s worth it.” 

Rachel’s lips twitched into a frown. She looked down at her bare feet, steadying her breath. “It just -- it reminds me of before. Of home. Back when I knew I’d be a star.” Rachel stuck out her lip, dejected. “Rachel Berry makes the best of her situations and if being a star in The Village is plausible, then so be it.” She made a brave face before turning to the elevator doors as they slid open to the cafeteria floor. The three stepped out onto the metal flooring, Rachel hissing at the cool temperature against her feet. 

“I think I’ll order salad,” Rachel announced, walking to a blood drawing station. She felt her body jerk back as Sam grabbed her wrist, tugging her. 

He pursed his lips. “You have to stop being a vegetarian, Rachel.” 

“Vegan,” she corrected, “and why should I, Sam? I consume enough iron for proper haemoglobin production.” 

“No, Rachel, listen to me. You need _twenty five_ vials for your song. Do you know how much stupid salad that is? You’re going to give away more blood than your body will make. You’re already so tired and sleepy and,” he paused, catching his breath. Sam took her hand in his. “I know how much singing means to you but think of what’s going on here,” he pleaded. 

Finn rest his hand on her shoulder. “Try something light, like chicken,” he offered, trying to dissuade the girl. 

After carefully thinking, Rachel let out a sound of disgust. “ _Fine_ ” she conceded. Rachel strode to the register where one of the aliens smiled warmly. “I’ll have chicken, please,” she said, slowly. 

“Coming right up, miss.” He punched her order into the register before pulling out a syringe and tube from the bottom. “That’ll be four vials.” The alien tied a tourniquet around her arm as he attached the tube to the needle in preparation. 

Rachel felt the constriction of the rubber, her breathing speeding up in reaction. The pressure was building deep in her arm and she began to gasp as she could feel her elevated heart rate racing through her veins. 

“Rachel,” Finn called out, leaning forward to hold her shoulders. 

Her vision became blurred as Sam’s voice echoed softly in her ears before the world turned black around her. 

**tina &mike**  
The expansive hallways of The Village frightened Tina, the disconcerting manner in which the nurse’s shoes would click and echo as they traveled from room to room and the way the fluorescent lights flickered and buzzed. She would creep around silently and slowly, avoiding eye contact with the aliens, her head permanently crooked downwards. 

Her nightgown billowed and ballooned around her body as Tina steadily weaved through the halls towards the lounge, grasping for the railings every so often to steady her balance. She had bought herself the opportunity to read one of the books from the library section -- one of the classics from Sangsiran depicting tales of woe and misfortune plaguing their former society. As unhappy as she was that most Earth classics had been destroyed during the takeover, Tina knew undoubtedly she would die if she wasn’t able to take her mind off of the situation. Besides, sometimes the alien novels has romantic aspects and Tina even though hated herself for hours on end every time her heart jumped into her throat when the Sangsiran protagonist made love to his bride, she couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit alive deep down. 

Her body was cold, her hands icy to the touch, as she approached the lounge. Tina wrapped her fingers around the doorknob when she paused, the metallic smell of pungent death hitting her like a wall. She turned her head, looking to the room adjacent from the lounge. The word _Vault_ was scrawled across in deep burgundy lettering. Tina peeked through the small window in the door and gasped. Inside, a gaggle of nurses were giggling and chatting animatedly, clear glasses of red liquid held in their slender fingers. 

Tina felt herself begin to retch when the nurses brought the liquid to their mouths, drinking eagerly and smacking their lips after every sip. One nurse swirled her finger through her glass, licking herself clean of every drop of blood. Tina applied her hand to her mouth, fearing she would throw up, and burst into the lounge, slamming the door behind. Shaking, she sat down on one of the white leather couches in the centre of the room and hugged her knees, rocking on her heels slightly. Knowing that the aliens drew your blood for their own consumption was frightening, but actually witnessing the event was too much. Tina felt tears prick her eyes so she buried her face in her knees. 

“Hi,” she heard a hoarse voice whisper. Tina looked up and saw a boy ( _Mike_ , she thought, _from down the hall_ ) who was shivering violently in the corner of the lounge, his hair long and shaggy, his face scruffy with facial hair, and skin completely alabaster. 

“Hello,” Tina croaked, gazing down at him. “What are you doing here, shouldn’t you be in your room?” She leaned over, holding her hand tentatively in front of her as if to comfort him from afar. Mike was practically convulsing from the force of his shaking. 

“Too c-cold in there, warmer here,” he stammered, brushing his long bangs from his eyes. “S-so hungry, I haven’t eaten in w-weeks.” 

“Oh,” Tina cooed. “Why not? You will probably die if you don’t eat.”

Mike looked at her with pained eyes. His lips were blue in colour and his dark lashes looked thick against his translucent skin. “‘M going to d-die anyway. I have,” he trailed off, shuddering before whispering under his breath, “haemophilia. Please, don’t make me eat.” Mike let out a sob, huddling closer to the wall. 

Tina stood from the couch and crossed across the room, kneeling before Mike on the metal floor. She threw an arm around him, trying to console the poor boy whose cries only worsened. 

“I’m so scared,” he admitted, laying his head on her shoulder. “What do I d-do when I need to eat? What if I don’t stop bleeding?” 

“Ugh,” Tina breathed. She felt sick to her stomach, envisioning Mike bleeding to death all to the pleasure of the aliens, lapping up the stream of blood flowing from his veins. Tina gagged, once, before regaining her composure. She gripped his shoulder, bringing him close. “You can’t hide forever. No matter what you choose, you will have to eat eventually.” 

Mike groaned, his face crumpling into tears. “I hate this place,” he spat. Tina felt her heart ache in her chest as Mike furiously wiped his tears from his cheeks. “I’ve seen you around before, what’s your name?” he asked. 

“Tina,” she smiled. “I live a couple doors down your hall.” 

“Cool,” Mike said. His eyes shifted to the door and Tina felt his body tense beneath her arm. Two nurses knocked on the door and swung it open before waiting for a reply. 

“Why, hello Mr. Chang and Miss. Cohen-Chang. Having a nice chat, are we?” the one nurse asked, grinning. 

The other alien shook her head, clicking her tongue against her teeth. “Mr. Chang, I haven’t seen you at any of my terminals in a while. That’s very uncharitable of you, you know. Your parents didn’t raise you to be barbaric, now did they?” she sneered, offering the boy a hand. 

Tina glared at the aliens, disgusted by their insinuations. She clutched onto him tighter. “He’s sick, please stop asking him,” she said, firmly. 

The nurses erupted into a fit of giggles. One alien wiped her eye of a tear and ran one of her nails down the door frame before her demeanor changed completely. “Miss Cohen-Chang, _you’re_ the sick one here if you cannot understand that Mike’s behaviour is frowned upon in The Village. Both of our races have decided that you need to give donations for all of the starving and homeless individuals on Earth and frankly it’s rude that you fail to see this. Now, Michael, are you coming with us?” Once again, she stuck out her hand in front of the two teenagers, waving it impatiently. 

Mike mouthed out _sorry_ before raising his arm and clasping his hands in the nurse’s. She hauled him to his feet and pushed him out the door towards a drawing station. Before they left, Tina heard the faint whispering of the two nurses as they followed Mike down the hall. 

“Oh, this one is a bleeder, right? We better up his volume, god knows he’ll give us as much as we want.” 

“Perfect idea. I’m _starving_.” 

Tina crawled on the floor, raking her fingers along the spines of the novels before she chose one arbitrarily. She only made it six words into the first sentence before heaving sobs tore from her throat and filled the room. 

**brittany &santana**  
“Sweetie, please, say something, anything.” Santana bent over the listless form of Brittany, holding her cold hand in hers. She stroked Brittany’s skin, cringing as the bright, blue veins on the back of her hand bulged. Brittany lay on the floor of her room, her eyes fluttering from open to shut. 

Brittany moaned, struggling to sit up. Santana shushed her, allowing the girl to be cradled in her arms. “Santana,” Brittany whispered, faintly. “Why are you in my room?” 

Santana bit her lip, choking back a sob. “You fainted on your way to dinner. Britt, how much did you donate yesterday?” 

Struggling to recall, Brittany’s eyes rolled back a bit as she attempted to count the vials in her mind. “I think it was around...thirty? Maybe thirty five.” 

“Oh, God,” Santana cried, hugging the girl tighter. “Why so many, Brittany, what could you possibly _need_?” 

Brittany flashed Santana a look of confusion. “Need? What do you mean, Santana? You have to donate to help the children. Did you know some are starving and need food? Haven’t you seen the posters?” 

Santana felt a surge of anger course throughout her body at those fucking aliens, putting those cheerful posters of pure bullshit around this goddamn place. “Don’t believe those. It’s not true, you don’t need to help anybody.” Her tone sharpened with desperation. “You need to help yourself, Britt. Brittany?” 

Brittany’s body once again became limp in Santana’s arms as the girl lost consciousness. Santana cried out in frustration, pounding her fist against the floor, the sound ringing through the room. These fucking liars, coaxing Brittany, sweet and adorably charitable Brittany, into giving them all of her blood. They _knew_ she would, too. 

Santana looked around Brittany’s room at the collection of books, the assortment of makeup and toiletries, the stack of CDs next to an almost archaic boombox and just felt like taking a sledgehammer to it all, seriously destroying this shit that represented her girlfriend’s beautiful naivety and innocence. 

“Come on,” Santana pleaded, placing soft kisses to Brittany’s forehead, “wake up. Brittany, wake up.” She sighed in relief as Brittany opened her eyes, lips forming a small smile. “Let’s stand you up and get you a shower, okay? The hot water will invigorate you and shit like that and then you can rest up for the day. You and I can get our cuddle on, alright?” She sounded frantic in her coercion. 

Brittany nodded and leaned back as Santana helped to pull the girl to her feet. Santana carded her fingers through Brittany’s hair, her heart literally paining in her chest over her girlfriend. She knew she was going to fucking punch one of those sons of bitching aliens in their stupid reptilian faces if they tried to convince Britt to give them more blood. Fuck them, they can all fucking _starve_. 

She linked her fingers around Brittany’s and moved her to the door, pressing the release. They were met with a male nurse, licking his lips at the two girls. 

“Why hello, ladies. Brittany, you look stunningly beautiful as always,” he purred. “Did you know I was in the orphanage the other day and this cute little Sangsiran girl asked me to thank the wonderful person who donated fifteen vials for her medical procedure? I told her that Brittany S .Pierce was more than willing to help those in need.” 

Santana was _pissed_ , where did they get off? “Give me a fucking break,” she yelled, pushing the nurse aside strongly. “Brittany needs to shower, so move before I end you.” 

“Don’t push me, Miss. Lopez,” he said sharply. “You’re forgetting showers aren’t free. They cost ten vials, so please give me your donation.” 

Huffing in exasperation, Santana rolled up her sleeve and stuck out her arm like a petulant child. “Hurry up.” 

The alien’s brow furrowed in confusion. “I thought Miss. Pierce was showering? Santana, you are fully aware that donations must come from the person who intends to use such services. If Brittany needs to shower, we need Brittany’s blood.” 

Santana growled, shoving her arm fiercely in his face. “Who fucking cares whose blood it is, draw the ten vials and hop to it. Beggars can’t be choosers.” 

“Santana,” Brittany breathed, placing her hand on Santana’s lower back, “don’t worry about me. I can afford to donate.” 

The corners of Santana’s lips dipped downwards, her eyes searching and scanning Brittany’s face. “Please don’t, Brittany. _Please_. It’s not worth it.” 

Brittany cocked her head, looking at Santana completely dumbfounded. “I like helping others.” She pushed her pajama sleeve down her shoulder, exposing her cream coloured skin. The nurse smiled, grabbing a syringe from his bag. He lead Brittany to the shower area and placed her within a stall, locking Santana outside. 

“Open the goddamn door,” Santana screamed, pounding her fists against the frosted glass. She could make out the naked form of Brittany shredding her clothes from her body as the nurse sterilized her upper arm. “Let me donate for her, assholes. Blood is blood for God sake!” 

“Miss Lopez,” hissed two nurses flanking Santana from behind, “we will ask you only once to please quiet down. If you’re not donating, exit the donation stations and make your way back to your room. Miss. Pierce is perfectly capable of making a donation.” One of the aliens reached out and held Santana’s shoulder. 

Santana thrust herself backwards, elbowing the nurse out of her way. “Do _not_ touch me, got that? Brittany,” she called, facing the showers, “come out now.” She could hear fumbling from behind the walls and gasped as Brittany’s body plummeted to the floor. 

“Nurse,” the male alien called, opening the shower stall, “please bring me the restraints. Poor Brittany is a bit tired and can’t stand on her own two feet. We’ll need to strap her up for her donation this evening.” 

Santana winced, feeling terror overwhelm her body. She pushed the aliens aside and barged into the shower stall, clutching her hands to her mouth as Brittany laid on the white tiles, completely naked, with a half-filled syringe jutting from her upper arm. She lept to the girl’s feet, shaking her violently. 

“Come on, baby, wake up. I know you can do it.” Santana cried, stray tears falling from her face. One of the female nurses dragged Santana backwards by her shoulders, forcing her outside. Santana punched the nurse as hard as she could, sending her cascading to her feet. “I said not to fucking touch me. Here,” she said, voice croaking with panic, “take my blood.” She ripped the nurses bag from the alien and rummaged inside for a clean syringe. Screwing up her face, she dove the needle into her upper arm and extracted a full syringe’s worth of blood into the vial. Santana tore through the bag, retrieving another. 

“Stop,” shrieked the male nurse, “this is illegal. You can’t do this.” He reached for Santana’s arm, but she backed out of his grasp. She threw the two full vials into his arms and set up a third. 

“Just watch me. Are you not getting the blood fast enough, aliens? Do you want all ten fucking vials in one go?” Santana pulled the needle from her skin and hurled it at the tiled walls. Her breathing was coming out raggedly as she fished out a scalpel from the bag. She held her breath before she slashed open her wrist, desperately. Santana cried out from the pain and fell to her knees, letting out short, high-pitched screams as blood oozed from her arms, dripping onto the austere flooring below. 

All three nurses began to hurriedly shuffle, reaching for collection vials as Santana’s donation poured from her veins. “Quick! Make sure you catch every drop,” screamed one of them, holding Santana’s limp wrist in her fingers as the other two gathered her blood. 

She felt the dull pain from her arm as bright spots clouded her vision. Santana collapsed backwards, smacking her head against the shower floor. Groaning, Santana struggled to open her eyes as light beads of hot water trickled from the shower head above. Trying to catch her breath, Santana looked over to Brittany who was still unconscious on the floor. Santana’s shaking hand reached for Brittany’s, barely tangling their fingers together before the stream of water poured over Santana, soaking her clothes against her skin. 

“Enjoy your shower,” sneered one of the aliens as she slid the stall door shut once the three had exited. 

Before Santana closed her eyes, she squeezed Brittany’s hand and watched as her blood mixed with the water, turning it a sanguine colour as it washed through the drain below.


End file.
